


they own this town

by gonerr



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Protective, Protective Richie Tozier, Rape Recovery, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Sexual Assault, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak, im so sorry eddie, theyre like 16 or 17 or 18
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2020-12-28 22:35:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21144338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonerr/pseuds/gonerr
Summary: Eddie knew something had happened to him, but he couldn't quite remember, couldn't quite process what had happened.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: References rape/sexual assault

Eddie shivered.

It was warm outside, the sky was blue, tinted lilac with swirls of pink cotton clouds and the trees hung limp because on this beautiful summer evening, there was no wind to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere. 

_Pat, pat, pat._

Eddie wasn't entirely sure of where he was going, he couldn't remember where he had been going before he woke up in that alley. He had been startled awake by a stray cat, who brushed against his soft hands which were currently caked with dirt, mud seeping into his nails. His clothes, dusty and stained would definitely cause his mother to have an aneurysm, but what she didn't know couldn't hurt her. So she wouldn't know. His shoes, once white, were bloody and scraped (much like his knees, elbows and his chin, he suspected).

A sudden memory of Richie popped into his mind. A phone call with the rest of the losers and excitement bubbling in his chest. He bit at his lip, gnawing down on it as he walked alongside the empty streets. The empty sidewalks made his hometown look deserted, a ghost town. In reality, it was just kind of a small town, though many people were very secluded and preferred keeping to themselves no matter what. It was both a blessing and a curse, as Eddie learned only a few hours ago.

In all honesty, most people just couldn't wait to leave Derry.

He slowly brought his hand to his temple, gently dabbing at the drops of blood that gently cascaded down his face. Lifting his hand higher on his head only led to more blood in his hair, a deep gash in his skull. He tugged softly at his knotted hair over the wound. He let out a small huff, lowering his hand back to his side and continuing his aimless walk. He recognized this neighborhood, he sometimes walked through it to get to -

Richie's house.

His pace slowed down until he stopped completely. Standing at the corner of the street, he gazed upon the houses in front of him and spotted Richie' s house, his car in the driveway right next to Mike's truck. Blinking, he scratched at his head with his bloody hand, careful to avoid the gash even thought he didn't really even feel it anymore. It just felt numb, it felt mindless. 

Out of sight, out of mind.

_Pat, pat, pat._

He slowly made his way to Richie's front door, without really realizing how he had even gotten there. He supposed his conscious would take responsibility for that, he always found himself going to Richie when he felt distressed. But he wasn't upset, he felt fine. With each step, Eddie knew something had happened to him, but he couldn't quite remember, couldn't quite process what had happened. Maybe Richie could help.

He gasped when going up the first step. There was a harsh stabbing ache running down his spinal cord, thighs trembling. He stood on his best friend's porch for a little while, letting the pain fade and trying to collect his thoughts. 

And as he rose his fist, to knock on the front door, he noticed his hands trembled along with the rest of his body. 

He wondered if he would be okay. Or if the pain his body was suddenly becoming aware of would last forever. He thought of his friends, and his mom and if they would know why he's feeling so sick, so nauseous and disgusting. Maybe he's caught something, though he's not too sure how that would explain all the blood. 

He knocked once. Twice. 

"Well, well, look who's finally - Eddie?" 

Inside stood Richie, messy curls and dork glasses. He looked angry when he opened the door, lips pressed tightly in a line, until his eyes roamed over Eddie. Eddie watched as the look on Richie's face shifted from irritation, to a storm of shock, worry and anger until he anxiously bit his lip and his eyes got teary. He took in his best friend's torn and muddy shoes, dirty clothes, scrapes and bruises covering any bare skin, and finally resting on the blood that trickled down from the side of his head. 

"Eddie ... shit, what happened to you?" He pulled in the smaller boy quickly, not wanting to leave him outside, cold and alone, any longer. He wrapped his arms around the boy he'd been in love with since the day they met and ignored the rest of the footsteps that could be heard racing to the front door from the living room. He was careful to avoid touching any injuries. He had been worried, all the losers had been. When the smallest member of their club hadn't shown up for their sleepover and movie marathon, all the losers got worried and even more so when they called his home and no one answered.

They figured his mother was holding him back and to not make matters worse, they decided they would wait until he snuck out. 

But this? None of them had expected this. 

None of them had expected for Eddie to show up at Richie's house 7 hours later, bloodied and bruised, beaten and shaken. He was torn. His clothes were torn. He was covered in mud, dirt and he didn't seem fazed at all by the countless diseases he could get from being so dirty. Scratches and bruises on his bare skin, his left eye was swollen and a violent shade of purple. His hair knotted, there was a deep bloody gash on the side of his head which Bev quickly put a wet cloth to (more like a piece of fabric she had just torn from her blouse). 

But what scared Richie the most, for now, was the distant glazed look in the smaller boy's sad eyes.

"R-Richie, he's b-b-bleeding," Bill whispered, gaze hovering over Eddie's backside before his bottom lip quivered and he closed his eyes. 

The rest of the losers stayed quiet, eyes filled with tears and they all surrounded Eddie, trying to figure out how to help their small friend and where to begin. Rage raced through their bloodstream, but ice cold fear and anxiety danced in their minds and hearts. Richie let out the first sob, a deep heart-wrenching sound which shook his body.

And only until then did the rest of the losers express their own pain. Outside, the birds whistled and the trees began swaying.

And Eddie? 

Only until then did Eddie begin to recall what happened to him, only then did panic flood his lungs and fill his eyes with fear and tears. He clenched the sleeves of Richie's shirt, his arms hanging limp even as Richie didn't stop hugging him. Eddie felt the ache coming back up, recognized the dull pain in his head and the spinning room with the rest of the losers crying. 

He felt rough dirty hands grabbing him, using him, abusing him. He felt it all, the pain from his wounds, the aches he hadn't felt before. Pulling on his hair, on his clothes, tearing him apart in every way possible.

And he wailed.


	2. Let The Ashes Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bev helps Eddie clean up, and uncovers information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more angst. Next chapter, they'll all be interacting more!

"We'll go slow, okay?" 

Bev gently guided Eddie into the bathroom, securing on baby pink latex gloves. Her left hand hovered over the small boy cautiously, mindful and careful not to put her hands on him too suddenly. The bathroom floor was covered in large plastic bags so that the blood wouldn't get everywhere, and Bev clutched a few plastic bags in her right hand - bags for Eddie to deposit his bloody and stained clothes in. 

_Just in case_, Bev said.

The rest of the losers watched - silent, still and vibrating with too many emotions at once. 

They all decided Bev would be the one to help Eddie change out of his clothes, mainly because she was the only girl and none of them knew how Eddie would react to being behind closed doors with another male. Realistically, none of them would ever do anything to hurt each other but they were being extra cautious. Logically, they understood that Eddie probably didn't want _anybody_ touching him, but once again, they were being extra cautious. And for now, that meant not leaving him alone. 

No one argued against this decision. Not even Richie, but that could most likely be because Richie was too busy emptying all the contents from his stomach in the kitchen sink. He hadn't made it to the bathroom. No one seemed to mind, given the circumstances.

When the bathroom door shut, the silence persisted; like a lioness, stalking her prey. 

This barrier however, was broken by the familiar squeak of sneakers coming from the kitchen. Richie emerged not too long afterwards, but with one glance towards the bathroom, he turned on his heels and back into the kitchen he went. 

This time, the rest of the losers all followed. 

It had been approximately four hours since Eddie arrived at Richie's house. 

Four minutes since Bev shut Eddie and herself within the spacious bathroom, not bothering to lock the door. She knew no one would interrupt them until Eddie was ready. Carefully hanging the bags on the robe rack, she reached into the bathroom vanity, pulling out the first aid kit. 

She felt Eddie's eyes on her as she once again, secured her latex gloves and ignored the anxiety twisting in her belly. It crept into her lungs. 

"You don't have to," Eddie murmured, voice cracked and soft, almost as if it pained him to speak. Bev tried not to think about it. 

He shrunk in on himself, bottom lip wobbling and eyes filling up with tears once again. She recognized the trembling of his limbs, and tried to ignore the crusted blood which stained her best friend. And, how could anyone do this? 

To their Eddie? Their sweet but feisty best friend, who no matter how much he whined and complained, would do anything for them all. Eddie, who liked comic books and nerdy movies, yet still denied he was a geek when they all teased him. Eddie, who was already being abused by his own mother, forced to take gazebos and forced to believe he had been sick his entire life. Eddie, who never ceased to bring a smile to their faces when he went off the rails because of Richie (in another thought, her heart ached for Richie, for the pain Richie was in at seeing his best friend- the boy he's loved as more than a friend for years- in such pain). Eddie, who had only just fully embraced his newfound courage and sexuality. 

She feared he would never be the same again; things would never be the same again. 

"Eddie," She sniffled, "I love you, we aren't leaving you alone." 

She went in for a hug but quickly paused, hesitant to touch him without his permission. Though he seemed not to have noticed because he kept his gaze on the ground. She was afraid of what he was thinking about. She knew they would all have to talk to him (if not, a professional) and they would all surely do whatever they could to help him. Belatedly, she realized those had been Eddie's first words since he had arrived. He wouldn't answer any of their questions, wouldn't even acknowledge that any of them spoke to him. Tears threatened to spill over, and she avoided eye contact as she began cleaning some of the blood off his face with cotton wipes. 

Small, cold hands wrapped around her wrists gently and they pulled her hands away from his face. And when she looked at him, she found his honey brown eyes staring back at her. It scared her, the emptiness in his eyes. Bitterness boiled at the pit of her stomach and she swore she would kill whoever had dared to touch Eddie. 

She didn't realize when exactly Eddie had let go of her wrists, but she watched as he slowly pulled his shirt off over his head, arms trembling and tongue hissing when an audible pop echoed from his arm. Bev bit her lip and allowed her eyes to wander over his exposed torso. Just as soon as her eyes met his torso, she tore them away and gulped loud enough for Eddie to shift uncomfortably. 

There were _scratches, _there were _bites. _The small boy looked as if he had been mauled by fucking monsters. There were deep bruises and cuts, and Bev couldn't take her eyes off the finger shaped bruises which disappeared down into the waistband of his pants. Glancing upwards, she wondered how they hadn't noticed the finger shaped bruises littering his neck, the bites and bruises that stained his neck. That's what they were; bruises, not hickies (because hickies were supposed to be enjoyable). But that wasn't the worst of it, no. It was this:

Deep, painful scratches, forming initials H.B. and P.H. 

"Fuck." She cried, and let big fat tears roll down her pale cheeks.


End file.
